


Damning the Flood - Part II  (only version, Rated R)

by aimlesscoyote, Gabriel Muse (aimlesscoyote)



Category: Dominion (TV)
Genre: Brotherly Love, Comfort, Gen, No Sex, Sadness, Trust, Wings, emotional breakdown, some violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-18 19:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4718147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimlesscoyote/pseuds/aimlesscoyote, https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimlesscoyote/pseuds/Gabriel%20Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel returns to Michael's dam in the desert.  This time it is he who has the emotional burden, and Michael who handles the trust.</p><p>Rated R for some violence and language. </p><p>Mostly in accordance with canon. Presumes that:<br/>* Michael and Gabriel have a long, pre-existing, (Brotherly) loving relationship<br/>* Michael is attached to Alex in some possessive kind of way<br/>* Gabriel has Alex living at his Aerie, and has grown strangely attached to him (see "All That Blood" to witness how this happened)<br/>(I've also taken liberties with M&G's ability to communicate silently via their bond/link)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Damning the Flood - Part I (Rated R / No Sex Version)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4672775) by [aimlesscoyote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimlesscoyote/pseuds/aimlesscoyote), [Gabriel Muse (aimlesscoyote)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimlesscoyote/pseuds/Gabriel%20Muse). 
  * Inspired by [All That Blood](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4478435) by [aimlesscoyote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimlesscoyote/pseuds/aimlesscoyote), [Gabriel Muse (aimlesscoyote)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimlesscoyote/pseuds/Gabriel%20Muse). 



> Rated R for some violence and language. Gabe has a potty mouth; he can't fucking help it.
> 
> I've been getting some feedback like "your fic is awfully dark!" plus Gabriel Muse has been terribly depressed, so I went in the opposite direction for this piece. This has a small amount of violence, but it's mostly about Gabriel's recovery and Michael's kindness. (Actually if you think about it, it's about -both- of their recoveries.) No sex, very little blood, mostly Brotherly love and comfort.
> 
> ...This is one of those works that went through six evolutions and gnawed my brain for days. It's not finished but I'm posting it before it chews me to bits. I have to get rid of it and move on.

©2015 A. M. Coy - No reproduction or redistribution without prior, written permission is permitted (coy at dreaminggates d0t com).

**Damning the Flood - Part II**

The sky was a peculiar dome of blood orange raked with crimson, strewn with bones of darkness to the east. Pulsing and cloudless, absolutely empty but for that ponderous, lowering sphere straight ahead. Gabriel stared into it, wings beating mindlessly in tandem.

They were steady for now. The wings. Drag them up, pump them down. Ignore the pain. Either they'd hold or they'd not. Father didn't shape them to yield under force of flight. Even damaged like this.

Gabriel kept going.

Twenty-five calls. Brother had not answered. He reached out again, casting his mind into the emptiness. _Brother, what's happened to you? Why do you not answer?_

Twenty-six.

So much for resting. So much for healing. It was all a moot point, anyway, a debate he'd not truly wished to win. He had spent the better part of forty-eight hours yearning to do exactly this.

Brother's refusal to answer had given him the reason his own weakness had failed to provide. Obviously Brother was in trouble; that is why he did not answer. To go because Brother needed you? Yes, a valid cause. To go because you needed Brother? No. Laughable and frail.

So Gabriel went.

He knew he had made the right choice, because the weight in his chest eased with every mile. As if the sweeping wind might carry grains with it, until he was left with just the regular crush of worries and aches. Those he could handle. The other he could not.

He pictured himself buried in sand, slowly being uncovered as the miles beat past. Could the simple arc of long, dark feathers bring such miraculous relief? Could he unearth himself one agonizing sweep at a time?

Gabriel kept on. The desert was below him, now. Worn peaks of tawny sandstone in thick striations, winding paths of sand spilled between. Gold and ochre, brick and silver tossed by careless hand. Had all this fallen from his wings? Great rocks jutting from guttering sand. Stones hiding canyons and long-dry arroyos. It was to one of these that Gabriel was drawn.

Michael's dam. His private sanctuary where he could hide from the world and sulk out his personal penance. The natural gulley walls and Michael's high artificial ones stood starkly below. In the center, a square space of open, white sand.

Gabriel slowed and circled, chasing his own shadow. He was losing altitude, but not by choice. His right wing was failing, cartilage giving way. The extra pressure of the turn had taken unexpected toll.

"Brother!" he bellowed. "Where are you?"

His inner senses told him Michael was here. The two of them were linked, bonded so profoundly that they never could be separated. And yet, Brother chose not to answer.

_Michael!_ he sent now, through that link. _I need you!_

Twenty-seven. And he'd broken his own rule about "needing" Brother.

At last, a familiar, slender figure stepped from the shadow of a ruined adobe wall. The tight grip in Gabriel's throat relented. Michael was not unconscious, nor wounded, nor strung out by jackals. He looked fine or relatively so.

Michael's short dark hair and inky cloak whipped in the wind; his pale face shone crimson in the fading sun. There was no smile to greet him, though, on those vigilant, keen features.

Gabriel barely made it over the high stone wall. He stretched his wings and cupped them to land, but they failed to catch enough air. He soared for a moment, ground coming up fast, and bled as much forward momentum as he could. Finally he thrust his feet down to the sand. He landed with a shock, nearly rolling but digging in for a skidding stop. He still went to his knees, though. Then his hands.

_Damn._ Ashamed by the graceless arrival, Gabriel grimaced. Not the sort of impression he had cared to make. And yet worse: he found the earth had unexpected pull. He stayed where he was—just for a moment—resting on the sun-warmed sand.

Michael eyed him from a safe distance. He was closed: arms crossed, weight shifted to one hip, face blank, lips pressed in a tight, disapproving line. There was silence between them, as if he were waiting for Gabriel to rise. When nothing happened, at last Michael tossed two dispassionate words his way: "My swords."

Gabriel slowly licked his chapped lips. _And that is how he greets me?_ came the bitter thought. _That is all that he wants._ "No," he answered aloud. He lifted his chin proudly, raising his voice. "I brought food and water." He unslung the sacks from his shoulders, letting them roll off into the white sand.

Michael's piercing green gaze bore into him. "Why?"

Gabriel's voice became tired. "Water, Michael." He gestured around them. "Desert."

Michael stepped closer warily, as if suspecting a trick. "I've nothing more for you to steal."

Gabriel simply gazed up at him. His deep blue eyes were heavily shadowed, his face unshaven, his brown hair sweaty and hanging in straight strands over one eye. He wore a long green robe—stained, to boot—and nothing more. No armor, not even sandals, for god's sake. He knew Michael was taking this in.

Michael's eyes were, indeed, moving across him. His tone lightened: ". . . Or have you come to beg for alms, instead?"

Gabriel lowered his wings slowly. "I am unarmed, Michael."

One corner of Michael's lip quirked. "You are un-everythinged."

Gabriel frowned. He shifted in the sand, gathering his strength and steadying legs beneath him, but suddenly Michael reached out. His strong fingers latched onto Gabriel's shoulder. There came an unmistakable pressure: downward.

"Stay," came Michael's command.

A long exhalation escaped Gabriel. Stay? Here, kneeling in the sand? He objected in a low tone: "You are my equal, Brother."

"You are a thief and a traitor." Again, the words had become cold.

"Big words," Gabriel drawled. "Big words, Michael. You know I took those swords to keep you from using them on yourself."

Michael's hand left his shoulder, but no permission to rise was granted. Gabriel surveyed his options and stayed where he was, waiting for strength to return. In the meantime, Michael began to circle.

"No weapons," noted Brother, "just provisions. Unkempt. Scruffy. Blood on your robe."

"So there is." Gabriel brushed his side, which remained untreated from Michael's gash nearly two days before. It had not healed well, which was unusual. His wings, too, were aching; the long flight, plus a scrap with Michael's pet, had aggravated the wounds where Michael had staked him to the ground.

Gabriel's eyes refocused to find blood trickling to the sand at Michael's feet. He realized he was bleeding more from the wings now than Brother had been, when Gabriel was here last. Irony. That had been the whole reason he'd taken Brother's swords, to begin with! He began to laugh, a reckless sound which echoed through the arroyo.

Michael stopped pacing. His gaze became quizzical. He inspected Gabriel's face as if reading the weary lines around his eyes. Still, he did not open the link between them, did not pursue a deeper connection. He'd placed a wall, a block between, and intended to keep it.

Instead, Michael tilted his head and inquired: "When is the last time you slept?"

Gabriel laughed again. "I've no idea. Some time before I last saw you."

Michael's lips formed a thin, annoyed line. He stooped like a heron, his graceful figure capturing one of the sacks like fish. He drew out water and drank from it deeply, his adam's apple bobbing as he did.

Gabriel was gratified to see him accept the gift. He shifted his weight backwards as if to rise, but again Michael ordered:

"Stay."

It was given like a command to an inferior officer. Gabriel took a slow breath, absorbing the insult, and let it simply pass through him. At this point the weight in his chest was so heavy, a few more grains barely mattered. Brother could not know how much it stung, at this point, to be treated so.

Michael checked the other sacks, finding enough sandwiches, protein bars, and water for a few days. He found something else as well, and looked up with perplexity, but set it aside without remark.

Finally Michael concluded: "Well, mission accomplished. Provisions delivered. You may go, Gabriel."

Gabriel sat where he was. "Oh, first I must stay. Now I may go."

Michael stood straight with his legs slightly parted, hands folded behind his back. "Go."

Gabriel stared up at that well-known, military stance. He felt another laugh rise from amidst the pain in his chest. He couldn't help it; the joke was on Brother, now. Michael was so formal and direct, and here he knelt. . . .

For a moment, Gabriel's smile became apologetic. He gave his answer: "No." Then he snickered.

"No?" Michael's eyes narrowed.

"No. You see, I came all this way, Brother—and you will have to forgive me. . . ." Gabriel did struggle to his feet, then, but slipped in the sand, lost traction and sank back to his knees. Michael watched this, his head tilting again, narrowed eyes casting across him. ". . . I am not quite sure how I made it this far, to be honest. I am afraid. . . ." His laughter burst out again, amused but harsh. ". . . You are quite _stuck_ with me, Brother. I am not going anywhere."

Michael's expression deepened so gradually, but so perfectly, that Gabriel had to laugh yet again. He was _so furious_! Gabriel had ruined his private vacation. No longer could he torture himself in peace.

"I've half a mind to break you in pieces, Brother." Michael's voice was strangely calm.

"Go ahead," Gabriel encouraged him. "That will only make my stay longer."

Michael's palm landed on Gabriel's chest; with an effortless shove, Michael pushed him flat to the sand. Gabriel simply lay where he landed, gazing up at the sun setting behind Michael's head. He discovered he had neither will nor strength to rise.

"There's my familiar Brother," Gabriel whispered. Not exactly a hug, but about what he'd expected. Unusually mild, really, for Brother in "Flood" mode. Perhaps he was genuinely learning to contain his temper, as he'd boasted often before.

"Get up," growled Michael.

Or perhaps not. Gabriel heard a warning in that voice. That much-flaunted containment was starting to crack. His eyes slid toward Michael, who was outlined in silhouette: the shadow of a cloak, two arms, and two slow-extending, menacing wings.

_Oh, hell._ Gabriel took a deep breath. He tried to stand, rolled over and gathered his feet beneath him. Before he could straighten, though, Michael moved in. Not with the usual punches, however; Michael surprised him with a grab to Gabriel's wing, the one with torn cartilage.

There was an immediate jolt of shock. Gabriel gasped: "Just hit me, Brother! Don't mangle."

Michael stepped into his line of sight. Those familiar green-tourmaline eyes were fierce. "Now which of us is the fool?"

Gabriel backed away, but Michael did not release his wing. Once unleashed, the anger gathered impetus like an avalanche. Gabriel could feel it breathing against his neck, as Brother dragged him closer. Soon it would be roaring.

"You took my swords. Made of me a fool," Michael snarled. He gripped Gabriel's wing harshly, yanking it so that Gabriel had to follow. He dragged Gabriel across the sand toward him. "Now you show up in _worse_ condition, due to arguably worse behavior. Did you do this on purpose?"

Gabriel pulled at Michael's hand, trying to free his wing. The claws digging in were anguish, but far more was that accusing stare. "Let me go." This was not what he wanted; he hadn't the energy for a fight, and definitely not for Michael's wrath.

"Answer me!" barked Michael.

"No, I didn't do it on—"

Michael twisted the wing. Gabriel gave a sharp cry, eyes widening. Michael twisted harder, forcing Gabriel to one knee. Gabriel could not tell which was worse: the sharpened wire-feeling ripping through his wing, or Brother's pressurized, building fury.

"How dare you," hissed Michael. "How _dare_ you extend judgment on me, then do the same. How _dare_ you harm yourself at all!"

"It isn't like that."

"No?" Michael twisted again.

"Please!" Gabriel dug at Michael's fingers. "Brother!"

"You had better start talking, Gabriel."

"Let me go."

Michael's nostrils flared. "Why did you come here? To show off your wounds?"

"No!"

"To bother me? To disturb me? To demonstrate you are better at hurting yourself than I?"

"Of course not!"

Michael jerked a handful of little feathers from Gabriel's wing in frustration. But he did let go.

Gabriel winced. Thank god, though, he could let his wing fall. It was too painful to fold; he let it rest on the sand. The rest of him, too, he let slump in an unmistakable position of surrender. It was preciously rare for him to do so—had Brother not been so furious, surely he would have savored it. Gabriel could barely hold his head up, so it was not much of a victory, but Michael should have enjoyed it nonetheless.

Gabriel made his eyes focus on Brother's face. He shifted forward, finding that the world was a little jittery under his weight. Gabriel reached for Michael one more time, a last appeal.

"Link with me." The words were just a whisper. "It's easier to show than to say."

"How dare you do this!" Michael thundered. "How _dare_ you hurt yourself!"

"Please." Gabriel clasped Michael's hand. He kissed the knuckles, drawing Michael's immediate gaze. "I will fight you, if you wish. I will even kneel, if you wish. I came here to be with you, nothing more. I. . . ." He hesitated on the words.

There came a long pause. Then Michael's voice was quiet: "You what."

_I need help, Brother._ Gabriel gazed into his eyes. Those intense, raw words blasted from his spirit, not his lips, like pulses from a neutron star. _Something's terribly wrong._

Under the power of that radiation, Michael pulled in a breath. His eyes widened, wonder obscuring the anger for a moment. His wings lifted, then his voice came crisply to Gabriel's mind:

_Brother, stop. I cannot take this any longer. Tell me what is wrong._

At the same time, Gabriel felt the link between them reopen. The block Brother had imposed was gone.

Immense, flooding relief. Gabriel clutched Michael's hand. The isolation which had haunted him for days was instantly overtaken by his Brother's presence. That presence was furious, make no mistake, but it was _there_. Gabriel pressed his heated cheek to Michael's knuckles.

Michael's other hand glided across his back. _What is wrong, Brother? Talk to me._

There were so many ways to answer the question. The complexity of the answer and the list of what truly was wrong suddenly weighed upon him in looming, vast, simply ridiculous amounts. He reached up, softly dragging his palm across Brother's cheek.

_Michael,_ Gabriel sent, and felt his heart reach out across the distance between them. _Michael, I've made such terrible mistakes._

Then the fury flickered again to the fore. _Such as allowing your wounds to fester? Harming my Chosen One? Taking my swords?_

Gabriel grimaced.Beneath all of these lay the true reason: he, Gabriel, had broken their Brotherly trust by doing so.

_About the swords,_ Gabriel explained, _I could not stand seeing you hurt yourself._

_You are an idiot,_ Michael told him fiercely. _That was my plan to keep people_ safe _. Now, as my feathers regrow, I can escape the dam. Guess where I am coming first?_

_I certainly hope so,_ Gabriel told him. _Come to my Aerie._

Michael just stared at him in perplexity. Their words returned to being spoken aloud, but Gabriel heard them also through the link: "You'd rather I raged at your front door, than ignored you in the desert? That's pathetic, Gabriel."

"Pathetic, then, yes. Call it what you will." Gabriel scowled into the distance.

There came a pause. Gabriel felt Michael's anger begin to cool, like lava sweeping into the ocean's tide. It was a slow process, and typically involved a great deal of boiling and hissing, but eventually, things did begin to settle down.

Eventually, Michael's arm slipped under Gabriel's. He gave a tug and helped Gabriel to his feet. Michael held him steady until Gabriel could stand on his own.

"Thank you," Gabriel whispered.

Michael nodded.

Then Michael looked inside him, deeply. Now that the link was open, and he was calmer, Michael could see everything. He could perceive Gabriel's pain, the crushing weight he could not escape, the one like mountains and sand cracking his breastbone. As it became clear, Michael's eyes and voice softened. "Brother. What is happening to you? I've not seen you this way since—"

"Don't." Gabriel flinched back physically from what he was about to say.

Michael placed a concerned hand on his shoulder. "Brother," he murmured.

Then Gabriel grabbed him fiercely close, first by the shoulders, then with an arm around his back. He pulled Michael against him, body and spirit. They stood in the desert, chest to chest, so tight the wind could not fit between. He wrapped his arms and damaged wings around Michael, just crushing him near. That is all he truly wanted in the world, right now. _My Brother,_ he sent fiercely. _Family._

Michael went along with it, but seemed uneasy. "Are you . . . well, Brother?" The question was asked with the certainty that it was not so.

Gabriel simply hugged him close. He wasn't alone. Brother and he had differences, and often expressed them with sharp, pointed things, but when it really counted, Brother would stop and put arms around him. Even now.

"Gabriel?" whispered Michael. He pulled back a bit. He traced his fingers down Gabriel's chest, where the emotional pain hung. Michael could feel it, now, distantly. He looked between Gabriel's face and his chest, trying to perceive why. "What is the matter?"

"Do not leave me." Gabriel spoke the words, even though they were infantile and idiotic. He no longer cared how it sounded, nor how weak it made him seem. It was foremost in his mind, overwhelming and immediate. It was the root of the damned mountain in his chest: Michael would leave, and he would be alone. Forever. __

"Leave you? Of course not." Michael frowned and went back to holding Gabriel tightly. "You are my twin."

"Swear you won't leave me. Swear it."

Michael was growing worried. "Brother? What are you hiding? What has happened?"

"Just promise, Michael. Promise." Gabriel held him locked close. "You are all I have left."

There was a long silence. Then the solemn inquiry: "What have you done, Gabriel?"

The tension was too much. He could feel laughter welling up inside him again. Gabriel kept it down. He stared into those serious eyes and sincerely told his Brother:

"Remember when I told you your boy had come to my Aerie, and he was under my care?"

Michael stiffened.

". . . He almost died." Then he burst out laughing again, a rather hysterical sound this time. "Your fucking Chosen One."

Brother sucked in a breath. "Gabriel!"

"I can't. . . ." Gabriel wiped at his eyes. He was laughing so hard, they were watering. "Oh, dear Father. I cannot keep them alive."

"Gabriel!" Michael's tone turned vicious. He shook him, hard. "Tell me what happened. What did you _do_?"

"Oh dear god, that's the rich part. It wasn't me. I swear." Gabriel gestured toward the last item Michael had set aside from the sacks. "But feel free to punish."

Michael shook him again, even harder. "What happened? Is he safe?"

"He's safe. He's with Noma as we speak." Gabriel wiped his eyes again.

Michael shouted: _"Tell me what happened!"_

"Urial was drawing him. The markings. He was fighting, as he always does. I wasn't there for that part. She—you won't believe this—she hung him up. The ropes, he tightened around his own goddamned neck."

Michael swore in seven dead languages and three still alive.

"Exactly." Gabriel started laughing again. _"And she didn't notice!"_

"Dear _Father_!" cried Michael. "I can't leave the boy for a second."

Gabriel sank back to the ground. He pulled up the braided leather flogger Michael had set aside. "Here. I know it's your favorite."

Michael took it, but tossed it down. "How badly hurt is he?"

"Oh, I fixed him."

Michael's eyes narrowed again in suspicion. "You fixed him."

"Yes, he's fine. Or will be. I had to restart his heart."

Michael's head tilted, eyes staring wide at him. "You . . . yes." Then they narrowed. "And how, exactly?"

"This way and that."

"Gabriel. This is not the time for games."

"Please, Michael. Don't ask. Just punish me."

Michael licked his lips. "Gabriel," he said quietly, "you had better tell me exactly what you're doing with Alex. And you had better tell me the whole story, right now."

Instead, Gabriel pulled in on himself. The laughter had faded to silence. He did not want to speak of Alex any longer. He sat staring at Michael, saying nothing, simply hugging himself. There was an unnatural pressure in his chest, as if the mountain of sand had shifted forward and were threatening to spill over.

Michael sank down in front of him, also saying nothing, but peering into Gabriel's eyes. Michael's gaze was increasingly concerned. Several minutes went by, then finally he reached out to touch Gabriel's temple.

"Brother," Michael whispered, "you look in agony. Speak."

Gabriel shook his head. He dared not.

"Please." Michael's eyes flitted across his face in worry, absorbing that pain. "What troubles you so?"

Reluctantly Gabriel whispered, "I killed mine."

"Your—?"

"Chosen One."

Michael's eyes widened. "You most certainly did _not_." He clasped Gabriel by the shoulders.

"I killed mine by neglect, and now nearly killed yours by the same."

"Brother."

". . . I miss him." The words were so simple, but conveyed so much. Gabriel did not need their link to send that. Michael knew; he lowered his head.

Something shifted inside him. Something gave way. Hundreds of years of sitting on top of it . . . he had even buried it nicely in soil and cruelly in blood decades later. It wasn't enough. A little boy still ran through his mind and left tracks in his soul which were indelible. Hundreds and hundreds of years later, they still were fresh as the day they were made. And they still hurt, in the absence of the one who made them. They hurt like hell.

Gabriel hid his face. He bent over, casting stark shadow on the sand. He was making a sound like laughter, but it wasn't. He stretched his wings out to cover himself, to conceal the sound and the action.

Slowly, Brother took a deep breath. Michael eased up against him and slipped his arms around Gabriel, wings and all. He rested his chin on Gabriel's shoulder. Then he too stretched his wings out for embrace.

There came a long, heavy lull. Michael's arms were strong around his waist. Michael's breath was steady on his ear. Michael's wings were firm around his own. Gradually Gabriel quieted, leaning against his Brother. Michael held him securely for as long as he needed. And he needed quite a while.

For the first time in days, Gabriel was able to breathe. He realized the pain in his chest was better—not gone, but better. He would gladly accept any amount of relief. He whispered at last:

"Thank you, Brother."

Michael exhaled heavily, rubbing his back. "Of course. And that is what I was going to say, before: I've not seen you this way since you lost your boy."

"He was mine," croaked Gabriel.

Michael reminded him gently: "And this one, Brother . . . is mine."

Gabriel winced.

". . . But I told you already, we can share." Michael kissed his cheek. "He's in your Aerie. He's in your care. You will watch him?"

"Yes."

Michael's voice lowered. "Can I trust you, Gabriel?" Green eyes sought blue.

Gabriel closed his eyes. The image of a little boy who had run to his arms still burned in him, thousands of years after the boy was gone. He had been more than just a "Chosen One." He had been a son.

A good, talented, loving, beautiful son.

Brother's randomly-picked, bratty "Chosen One" was no replacement for that. Not by a thousand miles.

"Gabriel." Michael's voice was firm.

Gabriel reopened his eyes. "Yes. Yes, Michael."

Michael's voice softened again. "I had no idea having Alex around would trigger this in you. I am sorry."

Gabriel shook his head. Was that why he suffered? Was it Alex's appearance which had triggered this pain? Some subconscious trigger, a reminder of what he'd lost? No, far more likely a jealousy of his Brother. Fury that Michael was allowed to keep one, and he was not. Perhaps that was why he struggled so hard to keep the boy at his Aerie, even though at times he could not stand the beast.

"I had no idea, either." Gabriel struggled to his feet. "I've no idea what the connection is. I . . . certainly don't think of Alex as a son. I don't even _like_ him much. He's a pain in the arse."

Michael's eyebrows went up in amusement. "Pain in the arse? You've no idea." He too stood and made his way back to the discarded sacks.

"Oh, but I do." Gabriel settled there in the sand and pulled out some energy bars. "Three words for you: Angel Chip Toss."

"Yes?" Michael eased down beside him. They hunched their wings against the gathering chill. "What sort of angel, what sort of chip?"

"Briathos, and potato. I must say, I got hit by a few, myself."

Michael snorted. "Good for him."

They settled in for the night. Gabriel was feeling more like his usual self, which was worlds better than the last few days. He and Michael made a sort of pit for themselves in the sand and settled in together.

Gabriel found himself stretched on his belly alongside Brother, while the waning moon rose above their mutual prison. There, under Michael's watchful eye, he was able to relax. 

"Sleep," Michael bid him quietly. Michael's hand glided across his damaged wings, smoothing the feathers in place. It was hypnotizing, really. Gabriel gave in to it, finding peace in the cool desert wind, the distant insects, the rustle of his feathers beneath Brother's gentle hand.

Gabriel had mostly dozed off, when the sound of the lighter roused him. He raised his head.

"Go back to sleep." Michael plucked one of his own feathers and turned it to ash. He smoothed this onto Gabriel's damaged cartilage, lifting the wing joint so that it healed back in proper position.

"No, Brother," Gabriel objected mildly. "Let me stay here and heal with you."

"You cannot." Michael plucked another and repeated the act. "Alex is back at your Aerie, without anyone to watch him."

"He'll be fine."

"He won't."

Gabriel lowered his head. He was so incredibly tired. And the cessation of pain, the ebbing away of suffering, brought immensely-seductive relaxation. "I do not want to go."

Michael's hand glided across Gabriel's wing. "Protect him, Gabriel."

"The boy hates me."

"Do it for me."

Gabriel sighed, sinking into the sand. "Fine," he grumbled. His wing twitched while the joint came back together. He could feel the flesh and sinew fusing beneath Brother's hands, as they worked the holy ash into the wound.

"Sleep tonight. Go tomorrow." Michael moved to the other wing, once the first was whole. He changed the topic: "You should not have let these wounds go without treatment. These are terrible."

"Let's not begin that argument again. I had my reasons."

"Penance?" guessed Michael.

Gabriel grunted. "I did not pry into your dam and your private rituals."

"No, you simply stole my swords." Michael's voice was light, however, not angry. "I will be by to pick them up. Probably in a week."

"They are in my private quarters. I had to lock them up. Your boy decided to try one on me."

"He didn't." Michael's voice was both shocked and amused.

"He did." Gabriel pulled his stained robe tighter about himself, to keep Michael away from the wound on his side.

Michael shot him a long look, then decided to let it pass. He set the lighter down.

Gabriel stroked it. "Why not let me do the same for your wings, Brother, and come with me?"

Michael shook his head. "Give me time to get over this. I am still in 'Flood' mode, as you so fondly call it. That means I am still dangerous." But the way he glided his palm across Gabriel's wing was anything but dangerous. It was tender, caring. It took the hurt he had given two days ago and pulled it from Gabriel's flesh.

Gabriel smiled, leaning against Michael. This was the side of Brother that Gabriel recalled, from very long ago. Before there had been such a thing as "humans" to argue over. Before cities had been raised only to be razed. When it was just their kind walking the cosmos.

Maybe it could be like that again, some day. Gabriel brushed his knuckles fondly across Brother's face.

"Sleep," Michael whispered. _Love you. Will guard you._ He stretched one wing over Gabriel's body.

There was nothing more Gabriel could offer for protest. He nestled against the warmth of his familiar sibling and let sleep claim him to its dark, comfortable embrace.  
  
---


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (It's not actually a chapter, just a link to "All that Blood" where the storyline continues)

There is more to this tale, but please be aware it is

Rated **NC-17** (adult!)

and part of a much longer story: 

[All That Blood](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4478435/chapters/10873880)


End file.
